


a moment of vulnerability

by transsalfisher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Android Hank Anderson, Angst, Cigarettes, D:BH reverse au, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Car Accidents, Panic Attacks, detroit: become human reverse au, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 14:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15798501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transsalfisher/pseuds/transsalfisher
Summary: “Thank you. For… Everything you did tonight. I know it wasn’t how you expected to spend the evening but… Thank you for being here and doing what you do.”Hank stares at Connor for a moment and noticed his cheeks are flushing pink. He smiles some, staring at him. Wrapped in a blanket, rosy cheeks, beer in hand. What a man.“It’s no problem,” Hank says. “If I’m not going to look after you, then who is?”





	a moment of vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> sooo,,,,, looks like i’m still not over the reverse au!!!!

“Would you mind picking me up some dinner?” Connor had asked, slumped over scattered papers on his kitchen table. “I’m starved and there’s nothing here and I don’t really have the time to leave these files.”

“Of course,” Hank said, standing from the table. “But I’m not getting you junk, I’m getting you real food. What do you want?”

Connor shrugged. “I don’t care, just get me a lot of it. I feel like I’m going to _die_.”

“You’re not going to die,” he had watched him light a cigarette and sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t mean to be gone as long as he was. The city was crowded, lines were long, and Hank wasn’t going to just give in and order fast food or takeout. Connor’s eating habits weren’t very good and Hank wasn’t going to indulge them.

He ends up calling in an order to a restaurant across town, then picks it up. He calls a taxi, which gets to him quickly, but overall slows him down. He doesn’t blame the taxi, though. To be fair, right as they neared Connor’s street there had been a bad car accident that held up traffic. Hank tries not to look, out of respect mostly, but he can’t help. He only saw three cars but for all he knew, there could’ve been more.

When the taxi drops him off at Connor’s house, he can still distantly hear sirens from up the street. Someone must’ve been intoxicated for it to be _that_ bad. He walks quietly up to the front door, knocks twice, then walks inside.

“I brought food,” Hank says. “Sorry it took so long, traffic was bad.”

He walks into the kitchen and blinks when Connor is nowhere to be seen. A cigarette sits in an ashtray, still burning, and Hank rolls his eyes. He sets the food on the table then snubs out the cigarette.

“Lieutenant?” He calls into the house, frowning when he doesn’t get a response.

He walks down the hall and knocks on the bathroom door, then nudges it open. Nothing in there. He continues on to the bedroom and looks in, blinking. 

“Lieutenant?” He asks, his voice softer.

The detective is sitting in the floor beside his bed, a blanket pulled tightly around him, rocking back and forth. Hank takes a moment to scan him and he sees that his stress levels are _incredibly_ high. He hears Connor audibly trying to catch his breath, but he can’t.

Hank frowns and takes a few slow steps towards him, approaching him as he would an injured animal. He kneels down a few feet away from him and scans the younger man a second time. He’s in emotional distress, _bad_ emotional distress. Hank had only been gone an hour, how much could have possibly gone on?

“I brought dinner,” Hank says.

Connor doesn’t respond, just keeps rocking, staring at nothing.

“Lieutenant, are you alright?” 

Still, nothing.

“Connor?” He asks, reaching out and gently taking one of his trembling hands.

The brunette jumps, as if just now realizing that Hank was right in front of him. He gasps for air for a moment before who realizes who’s in front of him. He goes quiet for a second and stares at Hank with wide, brown eyes, then presses his face into his hands. His entire body is shaking.

He wraps his fingers around Hank’s hand and stares at him, inhaling and exhaling heavily. Hank can tell he’s trying to control his breathing, but it’s hard for him. It’s hard. 

“What do I need to do to make this easier on you?” Hank asks gently.

Connor opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Truth be told, he doesn’t _know_. He’s never had someone with him when he’s breaking down. Sumo, but he doesn’t think that Sumo really counts.

Hank says something, but Connor doesn’t hear it. Instead, he scoots forward and presses his face into Hank’s chest. He wraps his arms around him tightly and whimpers into the fabric of his shirt, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Hank looks at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to do for a second. Gently, he wraps his arms around the smaller man and hugs him. He hears Connor let out a quiet sob and Hank almost pulls away until Connor presses closer.

“It’s okay,” Hank murmurs, rubbing up and down the man’s shuddering back. “You’re alright, take a deep breath.”

“It was so _loud_.” Connor whispers shakily.

“What was loud?”

“The cars.”

“The accident?”

Connor winces and that gives Hank his answer. He rocks Connor slowly, practically holding the man in his lap now. He carefully lets the back of his messy hair, continuing to slowly rock.

Now that he thinks about it, the accident really wasn’t too far away. He would’ve been able to hear it clearly if he had been here with Connor. Granted, it wouldn’t have had the same effect on him. 

Connor sniffs and wipes his eyes and his sweatshirt sleeve. Hank frowns a little and he finds himself momentarily frustrated that Connor doesn’t keep tissues in his room. 

“Did you see it?” Connor croaks.

“Yes.”

“Was it bad?”

“I… Couldn’t really tell,” Hank lies.

Connor swallows hard, trying to concentrate, trying to just calm himself down. He lets out a small, trembling breath, then hesitantly rests his head on Hank’s shoulder. He’s tired, he just wants rest. Fuck dinner, fuck his case, he just wants to go to sleep and pretend none of this happened. Pretend that he didn’t hear that crash and go to bed.

Hank continues to rock Connor slowly, rubbing circles down his back. It seems like it’s calming him down, so who is Hank to deny him this? Connor squeezes Hank tightly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

Shakily, Connor pulls away from Hank. He stands, blanket wrapped securely around him. He shuffles out of the bedroom and Hank raises an eyebrow, slowly standing.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a cigarette,” Connor grumbles as he shuffles down the hall, Hank on his heels. 

“Lieutenant, that isn’t good for you. Especially when you’re upset.

“I don’t give a fuck,”

Connor walks into the kitchen and takes a cigarette from its carton. He pushes papers aside searching for a lighter, checks his pockets, looks around frantically for it.

“Lighter, lighter, lighter.” He murmurs to himself, as if trying to keep himself on track.

He opens drawers and walks back to his bedroom. Hank stays where he is and watches passively. He would help if cigarettes weren’t toxic. He isn’t going to add fuel to the fire. So he just stands, eyeing the carton on the table.

“Fuck me!” Connor sighs angrily as he all but tears apart the living room. “Where the hell did I set it?”

It’s interesting watching him fall apart over a lighter. Hank knows just from being around Connor that he has several. There’s several on his desk at work, a few in his car, Hank can’t even say for certain how many lighters Connor has overall. 

_Humans are so fragile,_ he thinks as Connor continues his frantic search. _A lighter. Falling apart over a lighter._

“How far can a lighter go?” Connor asks himself, his voice shaking as he storms into the kitchen again. “It didn’t sprout legs and walk away.”

Connor sits down at the kitchen table, head in his hands, cigarette tucked behind his ear. Through it all, he kept his blanket on. Connor rubs his temples and lets out a quiet sound, something close to a whimper.

_Is he crying over a lighter?_

Connor stands, restless, with a whine and walks to the kitchen window. As he’s opening it, he stops, and Hank watches him intently. Connor turns, holding up a blue lighter, and smiles tiredly. He turns back around and finished opening the window, then pulls the cigarette from his ear. He wedges it between his lips then lights it, sighing slowly.

The fresh, cold air feels wonderful against his face. Winter has always been one of his favorite seasons. He inhales the smoke from his cigarette, holds it for a second, then exhales. It starts to snow and some snowflakes drift into the kitchen, but Connor could care less.

He finishes his first cigarette fairly quickly, then walks back over to the kitchen table and grabs another. Hank doesn’t bother stopping him. He doesn’t understand how it helps him in times of high emotional stress. He tries to understand, but he doesn’t.

“You know,” Hank says. “Those really aren’t good for you. It’s killing you from the inside out.”

Connor turns and looks at him, staring quietly. He inhales smoke and holds it for as long as he can before exhaling it out the window. He looks at the burning cigarette between his fingers and shrugs his shoulders. Hank can see in his eyes that his mind is going a million miles a minute. He doesn’t want to prod him, though. He’s had a hard night. But he wants to know what he’s thinking. 

“It’s funny,” Connor says with a bitter laugh, pausing to take a drag of his cigarette. “My mom always told my dad the same thing. I guess, between my brother and I, one of us was going to end up the nicotine addict.”

He stops, takes another drag, and blows it out the window.

“Of course it ended up being me.”

“Are you close with your family?” Connor visibly winces and Hank feels something for a moment. That wasn’t a good question to ask.

“My mom and dad are dead,” he pauses to take another drag of his cigarette, then flicks the butt out the window. “My brother is alive but I can’t really call him my brother.”

“Why not?” Hank asks.

“I was young when my parents died and he was a couple years older than me. When they died, he went to go live with a different relative and we kept in touch but,” he shrugs. “We’re more like distant friends than brothers.”

Hank doesn’t know what to say for a moment. It’s his own fault for asking. He has questions, about Connor’s family and what happened to them, but he’s not going to put him in more emotional turmoil.

Connor looks at the takeout bag that’s on the kitchen table, noticing it for the first time since Hank brought it. He walks over to it and peeks inside. He’s hungry but he can’t eat. He’ll get sick if he does.

“Thanks for the food,” Connor says, picking up the bag and setting it in the fridge. “Sorry I didn’t eat it I just…”

“It’s alright,” Hank says. “Just don’t let it go to waste.”

“Oh, I’ll have it for breakfast or something tomorrow.”

They stand in silence for a second. Connor leans down and grabs a beer from the bottom shelf of the fridge. They make eye contact for a moment and Hank feels something. He can’t place what, but it’s something… Nice. Something warm.

“Well,” Hank says. “I’ll be going now.”

“Yeah, alright,” Connor answers awkwardly. “I’ll see you at the station tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Hank says.

He walks out of the kitchen then to the front door. He opens it, cold air and snow hitting his synthetic skin. He’s about to close it when he hears Connor’s voice call from the living room.

“Hank?” Still wrapped in his blanket, he looks incredibly small. He looks vulnerable.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Thank you. For… Everything you did tonight. I know it wasn’t how you expected to spend the evening but… Thank you for being here and doing what you do.”

Hank stares at Connor for a moment and noticed his cheeks are flushing pink. He smiles some, staring at him. Wrapped in a blanket, rosy cheeks, beer in hand. What a man.

“It’s no problem,” Hank says. “If I’m not going to look after you, then who is?”

Connor laughs a little and pushes some hair from his face.

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.” Hank says, before finally walking out the door and closing it quietly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y’all liked it!!! i really love writing things for the reverse au (and d:bh in general)  
> depending on if i post more reverse stuff or not, would you guys like a comp of headcanons and stuff that i have for the reverse au?? it’s up to y’all, so let me know!!!  
> <3


End file.
